Unregrettable
by TearStainedAngel24
Summary: No matter what happened, England knew that he could never trust France like that again. Not with the shattered remains of his heart. FrUk to UsUk with Franada and PruCan thrown in. Incorporates some of the lyrics to "Jar of Hearts".


**A/N: Anti-FrUk sort of, UsUk, Franada, PruCan. Sorry FrUk fans, this isn't meant to offend, but I could totally see this happening... On my iTouch posting this, so sorry for any mistakes. Enjoy!  
**

_No, I can't take one more step towards you, _

_Because all that's waiting is regret._

England sat down on his bed, buried his face in his hands and mentally cursed himself. Stupid stupid stupid him! How could he have been so naive? He was a bloody idiot for even thinking that he could trust that frog, or that the frog even loved him back. He really meant nothing to France, he was just a f*ck-toy that the Frenchman could throw away when he found a better one. Questions bounded around in his head constantly, some of them incredibly painful.

Had England really let himself be so stupid as to think that he loved France too? We're they ever anything? No, he had never really loved England, had he? And England didn't truly love him. This didn't stop the main question from hitting him like a ton of bricks, one he was trying to avoid.

Why did betrayal hurt so much? Why did he want to be back in the French mans' loving arms, feel his hands caress his skin and run through his hair again? Why did he want those blue eyes to gleam with love only at him?

The English man just turned and buried his face in his pillow to sob his eyes out, and clutched at the sheets in anguish. God, it felt like his entire body was broken. The last time he had felt like this...was when America left him. This thought made the blond sob even harder, because it had been France who had comforted him during that dark time that wasn't so long ago.

_Who do you think you are,_

_Running round leaving scars?_

England watched France flirt with his new lover, whisper cute little secrets into the blonde's ear like he had once done to a different blonde with forest green eyes, not sea blue. Proclamations of how much he would make the poor sap love him that night. The cute little innocent thing was stammering and blushing, and France just placed light and feathery kisses on his cheek, all the while smirking like a cat that had stolen the cream.

England could still feel the kisses that the romantic nation had once given him; still hear the gentle whispers of love he had once believed. But you cannot spell "believe" without 'lie', and everything they once were was gone. The Brit felt hatred boil up inside him and he turned away, tears forming in the corner of his eyes. He gritted his teeth and scrunched up his face, refusing to let go of the tears that so desperately wanted to escape. He had lost too much sleep, cried too many tears over this man.

It was time to move on, ignore that damn frog. Find a new love, someone who he knew would not leave him or hurt him. Or perhaps never love again. Would he ever be able to trust someone with something so fragile as his heart again? He didn't want to know the answer.

England turned his attention to the rest of the nations, blocking France's murmurs of love to the little Canadian boy who used to call him "Papa", but being nations, that didn't matter. So the sharp-tongued gentleman ignored to few blips of love floating around and made causal conversation with Japan, America, and a certain over-active Italian who was going on about pasta and Germany's cooking.

He was over that damn Frenchie, and curse his soul to the devil he was never going back. Sure, times were much happier back then and he had been left broken hearted for a long time, but Britain was stronger than to let this bring him down any longer. He was done, and so, head held high, he tried to forget the frog all together.

_I learned to live half alive, _

_And now you want me one more time._

Imagine England's shock when he opened his front door at three am, pissed off and sleepy, only to be met with a certain sobbing and slightly drunk Frenchman with deep blue eyes collapsing on his shoulder. He brought his frienemy in and settled him down, trying to calm him, all the while reminding himself that he no longer loved this man.

When France had finally managed to stop crying like an over-emotional woman, he spun a tale of woe for the Brit. Apparently his "sweet, kind little Canadia" had left him for that Prussia man. Prussia had been shocked, but ever so happy that his feelings were finally returned. Apparently Canada had stopped liking the way France acted around him. Poor boy was shy, and hated being put down and dominated by the romantic fool every night.

Also, England had halfheartedly noticed that even France had sometimes forgot about his new lover, which made sense if it was Canada. However, Canada hated that feeling, hated being left alone. So he had left France for the one man who had never forgot about him, who always remembered to say hello. England sat and listened to the Frenchman whine on about how unfair it was, and the island nation could only think one thing.

'Good for Canada, finding someone better.' Sure, Prussia was annoying, stuck-up, and pretty dumb, but he wasn't a complete player and was somewhat loyal, which is more than he could say about France. Another thing was that, being the ex-nation he was, he was forgotten a lot and might actually give Canada some fluff and gentle love out of knowledge about how it felt to be forgotten and pity for the lad.

Plus, he had Germany to slap him into place, and England knew the threat of America being at your throat was enough to scare anyone. That man was ferociously protective of his brother, even if it sometimes didn't seem it. The Prussian would treat him well, much better than France, and England knew that from experience. However, he still sat there and listen to France complain, watched him drink most of his alcohol. It was pitiful, but England had to mentally laugh. The frog was in the same state that he was in when he had left him, all those years ago.

"Angleterre. We're still friends, non?" the Frenchman questioned, hope flashing in his eyes, if only for a second. However, England noticed it and made the move to cut it out.

"Well, sort of. Yes, France, just friends." England replied, putting heavy emphasis on the 'just', to make it clear his days of snogging with him was over. France just sighed, and stared at England for a while, before thanking him for his company and generosity. He shuffled towards the door and opened it before stepping through. However, half way out, he stopped.

"I'm sorry." He muttered bitterly through the door, before slamming it shut behind him and leaving England with his spinning thoughts.

_I hear you're asking all around, _

_If I am anywhere to be found._

_But I have grown too strong to ever fall back in your arms._

No. England refused point blank to love that man anymore. Any time his thoughts drifted to him, he forced himself to remember the pain and agony that the frog had put him through, how he had hurt the island nation. How he had left him for someone better, put him down, wrecked him.

However, when France pulled him into a room after a meeting, begged for forgiveness now he knew what it felt like, begged for him back, England mouth went dry. His stomach was in knots and he so desperately wanted to be in the French man's arms again, to feel safe and secure.

Unfortunately, this wasn't ever going to happen. A small, sane voice inside of England took the time to reminded him that he would never feel safe in France's arms again without thinking of that horrible time after he had stopped loving the emerald eyed nation.

So he stared into those blue eyes shimmering with pleading and darkened by lust, and remembered something a very wise and very clever man had told him as parting advice long, long ago. 'If it did not work the first time, it will not work a second time if you try the same way'. Valuable advice indeed, and England continued to stare into those saddened, pain filled azure eyes, before saying one word.

"No." And with that, the British man turned and walked off, a blue gaze burning his back.

Blue...those were not the blue eyes he wanted anymore. On that day, England realized that he had fallen in love with someone else long ago.

_Dear, It took so long just to feel all right, _

_Remember how to put back the light in my eyes._

"E-England...England, I love you." the British man just stared at the sapphire eyes gleaming at him. However, these eyes were different. They were so young and innocent and happy. There was no lust shining behind them, just fluffy love. They were filled with hope and playfulness, not pleading.

He knew is own emerald ones would be shining with happiness. England knew that he too loved this man, and so he put his arms around his neck and pulled the nation into a soft kiss. This nation was not France. This nation was England own pride and joy, America.

Sure, America had once hurt him, but it was not in cold blood, and it had been half England's fault. He hadn't been left for someone better, he wasn't cast aside, the American had still cared for him, and hadn't found a new nation to take care of him. He had only wanted freedom. The breakaway of America had left him shocked and pained, yes, but he still loved the nation and everything about him, as much as they annoyed him. He was a nation that England had realized he loved since France had tried to get him back. As the larger nation wrapped his arms around the English man's waist to deepen the kiss, England felt something he hadn't felt in far too long. He felt something he thought he would never feel in another's arms again.

There, in America's embrace, he felt safe.

**A/N: Like and favourite if you enjoyed. Subscribe to be-/Shot for quoting PewDiePie AGAIN.**

**But seriously, reviews are loved~  
**


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